


running away just made sense

by marriottsmushrooms



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Getting Back Together, Happy ending cus the angst has been pretty heavy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, also send prompts/requests, eNJOYYY, longest work yet which is not important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriottsmushrooms/pseuds/marriottsmushrooms
Summary: He thinks about how Will feels about him. He wonders if Will still feels the same, even after George breaking it all off. It would make sense for him to, but maybe that's just George thinking wishfully. He supposes that the only way to find out is to talk to Will. To sit him down and talk to him, find out how he feels and then subsequently beg for Will to take him back. If only he was that confident.





	running away just made sense

**Author's Note:**

> Ello lads I'm back again with a big whopper 
> 
> Enjoy
> 
> It's mainly George/will because I exclusively write that even though there are some bomb ass ships I could write instead
> 
> Must be Will's northern charm
> 
> Love  
> -mush

George knows that he can't stay out here for long. He could, if he was sat here alone, no one coming to check on him, no one even knowing he was sat there, bottle in hand, letting his breaths get carried away by the nighttime breeze, letting the cold bite at him until his nerves freeze up and he can't feel it. But he can't, he knows Alex won't let him.

Alex works like that. Listens to the clunk of the fridge door open, the clink of glass and then it shuts again. Hears the soft smack of George's feet against the hardwood flooring. Hears the gentle sigh of the door opening, a whine as the hinges groan and it shuts, and then he notes the time. He does it all wordlessly, but George is aware of Alex's eyes on him.

George hates it out there. He hates the noise that comes with the city, the roar of the cars across the concrete, the general murmur of busy city life, even so late at night, the shouting mixed with music that spills out of nightclubs like venom, and infects the air. He ignores it after a while, tunes it out by replacing it with his never ending thoughts.

Alex will come out quietly, and place his hand on George's shoulder. He'll tell George the time, normally past midnight, and ask George to come inside. George knows its less of a question and more of a statement. Alex is just looking out for him.

George begins to live with the regret. It doesn't get easier, but he learns to compromise. He doesn't want to go back. Doesn't want to go back to square one where he's begging for Will to listen to him. He can't do it. It broke him enough the first time. The regret is like another person, another soul in the apartment other than him and Alex. It follows George around everywhere, never leaves him alone, it sleeps in his bed, sits in his chair, uses his bathroom. George knows it's his fault that this thing is following him.

George hates that they didn't mend the break. They should have smoothed down the sharp edges when they broke, but they didn't, too focused on not talking, on avoiding the awkward atmosphere whenever they saw each other. George knows they both should have made more of an effort. Now they have to put up with the jagged edges that they left, tripping on splinters and being scraped by the spikes. The air is thick with tension whenever they even know the other person is near. It chokes George until he can't breathe.

He misses Will, occasionally. He hates those days where the memories weigh heavy on his shoulders and cloud his mind until he sees nothing but fog, and Will.

Will knew just how he worked. Knew just where to put his hands, knew what to say, knew when to come closer and when to back off. George remembers the days when he thought he couldn't live without Will, and sometimes, those thoughts come back.

Typically it's in the dead of night, when George has been editing for hours, eyelids heavy and mouth dry. He gives up, throws his glasses onto the desk defeatedly and presses the balls of his palms into his eyes. Sometimes he expects Will to come in, like he always used to, and pull him to bed, holding him gently like a sheet of glass. Then he remembers that Will is nowhere near him, and probably doesn't want to be.

George sits up, climbs into bed, and lets the regret entirely consume him. He knows he should have done it differently, or not at all. And as he racks his tired brain to figure out some way to fix the mess that he's made, he falls asleep.

Alex helps. Alex is there the majority of the time, and George only appreciates his presence when he's off to America or somewhere that feels equally as far away. Then he feels lonely, miserable. The regret, although like another spirit, is no help whatsoever in making George feel like he's not trapped, like he isn't lost. He needs to talk to someone, needs to let his brain just spew out words instead of thinking so hard. With the silence of an empty flat, George can't help but think. Think about everything that could ever be thought about. Think about _Will_.

He thinks about how an empty apartment was a blessing when he had Will. Whenever Alex left, Will would be right there, and it was like living together for a week or two. They could lie in bed together until the afternoon if they wanted to, George wrapped up in Will's lanky arms, their legs intertwined.

George feels his chest ache when he thinks about Will touching him. He thinks about Will's large palm, his long fingers. Digging into his wrists, his thighs, cooing gently. He thinks about all the places Will took him when they had the apartment to themselves. He sits on the sofa and remembers the feeling of his knees against the hardwood floor, Will's hand tugging at his hair. He stands in the kitchen, mug in his hand, and remembers the cold counter against his chest as Will bent him over it. Remembers the feeling of Will's hand pressing into the small of his back. Even when he crawls into bed, he feels lonely, so desperately missing Will's soft skin pressed against his own.

When Alex comes back, George can't help but throw his arms around his neck and hold him tight. The pain of being left on his own is unimaginable now that Will likely never wants to see him again. It drives him insane, seaking comfort from films he's watched multitudinous times before- which he leaves on for background noise- something to make the space feel less empty.

He sits outside more whenever Alex comes home. He knows there's someone looking out for him to make sure he doesn't stay out there until he develops some kind of illness and his fingertips turn blue. Alex sits with him occasionally, probably desperately trying to relive the evenings spent in another country, air pleasantly warm, drinks refreshingly cold, but instead sitting miserably in the chilly air of London, England.

George finds himself cooped up a lot more now that he doesn't have Will to drag him places, to encourage him to get out of bed with promises of kisses and cuddles and lunch at their favourite café. George supposes he has no reason to leave the mass of duvet he's made himself home in, not on most days. Alex knocks at his door, makes George tea, tells him he's going out, asking if he wants to come along whilst knowing the answer. George wishes Alex didn't care about him so much.

Sometimes George tags along, reluctantly, just so that he doesn't have James nagging him, telling him to look after himself or he'll come over and do it for him. George doesn't think he'd mind the company.

Will comes along too, how could he not? George tries not to look at him, keeps his mouth shut and throat dry even after drinking until the faces merge into nothingness and he feels less lost. Feels less threatened by Will being there.

Will watches George, whenever he can. He doesn't mean for it to sound strange, but he can't help it. He feels the same, feels the same love pull at his heart, the same flutter of nerves every time George laughs. Now it just hurts a bit more. George was the one who broke things off, and now Will is left with a bucket full of love for someone who doesn't want it anymore. He notices that George refuses to look at him, and he hates it. He wishes George would just say something, _anything_ , to him, but Will guesses their tear apart was caused by George, and he's still healing from the damage he caused.

George wakes up most days expecting Will's body beside him. He holds his arm out, smacking the mattress beside him without looking. He gives up and turns over, presuming Will is already awake, and then snaps to consciousness when he remembers that he pushed Will away.

 _He_ pushed Will away. He discarded Will like he meant nothing because George was selfish. He knows he was. He cared too much about other people, put their opinion over his happiness, over Will's happiness.

He wishes he could go back, wishes he was strong enough to ask for Will to take him back, _beg_ even, but he isn't. He can't face that because of the possible outcomes.

What if Will's done with him? George knows he was awful, spiteful and cruel when he ended it, and ignoring Will for a week didn't help. He wouldn't be surprised if he went back there and Will told him that he wasn't interested anymore.

What if Will takes him back? What if it's not the same? What if it's never the same again? What if it's always awkward, always stuttering words and quiet murmurs, reluctant touching and separate sleeping. George thinks he'd rather be alone than have to put up with their relationship, stale and forced.

He can't seem to win, and he knows that he doesn't deserve to- not with the way he treated Will, but he can't help but long for him back.

He tells Alex.

Alex hadn't known what had happened between him and Will, George had simply told him that things weren't working out. All Alex knew was they had broken up, and now he had to deal with George's miserable state, and the suffocating tension that appeared from nowhere whenever he and Will were near each other.

Alex sits, letting his lungs fill with the cold air, and pulls the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his fingers.

"Don't know why you sit out here. 'S fucking freezing," he murmurs. George smiles. Alex always says that.

George can't answer him. He knows it's cold, however he doesn't mind it, not most nights. It's refreshingly painful until it blends into the mass of irrelevant annoyances, the noise, the cold, the murmurs of the city which he wishes he could escape from. They fade to nothing when George's thoughts consume him. He shrugs.

"I miss Will," George mumbles. It's unexpected, out of the blue, and Alex doesn't know how to react, not straight away. George never talks about Will. Not since he told Alex quietly one morning that they had broken up.

"What happened between you two?" Alex speaks softly, reluctantly. He doesn't want to step over the line, he knows George hasn't been the same since he and Will split, yet Alex wants to help George more than anything.

He wants the old George back. The George that never shut himself in his room, the George that didn't sit on his own in the cold every evening, the George with light in his eyes, the George who didn't look like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The George that smiled and laughed and came out with them whenever they asked to drink and have fun and make memories to smile at.

George exhales. The air swirls in front of his face before disappearing. Alex doesn't know if George heard him until he answers Alex's question.

"'S my fault," George murmurs, looking down at the bottle in his hand before looking up, running his eyes along the oh-so-familiar skyline. "Got scared. I don't know, I guess I didn't want people knowing we were together. Saw some stupid fucking tweets, comments on one of Will's fucking videos, and I didn't want to do it anymore. Didn't want people thinking we were like that. But we _were_ like that. We _were_."

Alex stays quiet, not sure if George is finished. He lets the words hang in the air.

"Told him it wasn't working out. Fucking lie. I loved him, Al. Still do, 'n' it's all my fault cus I said I didn't. I was scared. Now I don't know what to do. I want him back. We were so good together, but I fucked it up. Always do."

George sighs, sinking further into his seat. He toes at the concrete floor.

"He probably hates me now, Al. He was so confused when I told him it wasn't working. We were fucking inseparable. Everything was so good Al. I was so happy, so was Will and I just fucked it all up."

George lifts his hand up, elbow resting on the seat of the chair, and bites into his knuckle. Eyes watery, he looks up.

He doesn't cry as much as he used to. Their balcony is his safe space. He doesn't have to worry about anyone watching him, coming out to talk to him. Alex knows that when George goes out there, he only wants to be interrupted if necessary. George lets his heart ache, lets himself feel the pain he's caused himself instead of ignoring it.

"Come out with me," Alex speaks, suddenly. It's too loud for the quiet atmosphere they've created, but George enjoys the break from the pressure of keeping quiet. George looks at Alex, vision still a little blurry, but Alex is looking away, focused on the horizon.

"What, now?"

"No, tomorrow night or something."

George hums, looking back at the world in front of them. He forgets how much he enjoys Alex's company. He misses the times when they'd talk, sit and spill secrets and trust each other completely for an hour or two. He can't help but ask Alex why. Why only _now_ he's decided to drag George out the house to spend time with him, just the two of them.

"You can talk to people, you might even find someone," Alex shrugs. He speaks like he doesn't know that George just wants Will back. George thinks that maybe he doesn't, that maybe he wasn't clear enough, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Alex otherwise; he's only trying to help. When George looks over at him again, Alex finally makes eye contact with him, a slight smirk pulling at his lips. George rolls his eyes. "Come on, George. You might as well try to meet someone else."

"Well why would you come?" George sighs, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger.

"So you don't get yourself murdered, stupid. I'll invite James, make an evening of it," Alex shrugs, leaning back in the chair. George looks away, considering it, before his head jolts back.

"Don't invite Will," he snaps, eyes widening, defensive.

"I wasn't going to."

  
The club is ridiculously busy and George hates it. Alex turned this evening out into a big thing for George, but now he's sat on his own at the bar, and if he looks hard enough, he can just about see James pressing Alex up against the wall on the other side of the room. He sighs into his glass, head heavy.

He's awful at talking to people, hates every time someone walks by in case they try to talk to him. Luckily for him, none of them do. He hates that he feels lonelier here, surrounded by faces, surrounded by noise, than he does at home, in the quiet of his bedroom- locked away.

He keeps thinking that he's seen Will. It seems that every man George lays his eyes on could be Will, even the ones that look nothing like him. George just can't stop thinking about him. He can't help but think himself stupid. He can't get over Will. He doesn't even know if he wants to. Will made him so happy, George isn't sure he could cope without Will. Not much longer, anyways.

He thinks about how Will feels about him. He wonders if Will still feels the same, even after George breaking it all off. It would make sense for him to, but maybe that's just George thinking wishfully. He supposes that the only way to find out is to talk to Will. To sit him down and talk to him, find out how he feels and then subsequently beg for Will to take him back. If only he was that confident.

"I'm sorry, is this seat taken?"

A voice drags him out of his mind, brings him back to reality. It belongs to a pretty girl, no older than him, he reckons, with bright eyes and a sweet smile. Swallowing down the nerves that block his throat, he speaks.

"No, no, it's free," he nods, not one to say no to a stranger. Any chance of confrontation he tries his best to avoid. He doesn't particularly want to talk to her, or anyone, and he hopes that she turns the seat towards the bar and leaves him to his own devices. She does not.

She sits opposite him, but George doesn't look at her, focused on his drink. It's awkward and he hates it.

"Penny for your thoughts, stranger?" She speaks with a smile, and George sighs, finally meeting her eyes.

"It's nothing," he sighs with a shrug, not one to share stories with people he doesn't know. And then he remembers that he doesn't know her, and that's exactly it. He can tell her whatever he wants her to hear- it's not like she can do anything with it. Still, he changes the scenario, but tells her, eyes trained back on the glass.

"It's my friend." He can tell she's listening by the way she leans in. "He's in love with this guy. They used to date, but he got scared, so he pushed the other guy away. But he loves him and he's pretty sure the other guy still loves him too. He doesn't know what to do."

There's a moment of peace between them, and as George looks at her face, he can see that she's thinking intently- can almost see the clogs whirring inside her mind. She looks down at the coaster on the bar that her fingers are set on fiddling with.

She looks back at him, and lifts her hand to place it on George's. The touch makes affection bloom in his chest. He's missed the way that being loved feels. Missed the way that any sort of affection feels. She reminds him of Will, in a strange way, a deep thinker, incredibly caring and adamant in displaying their affection towards others. Her skin is soft against his, like Will's. Her eyes are a similar shade of murky hazel, set in a soft expression, caring.

"I say, that this friend of yours should talk to the other guy. Try and resolve things, otherwise they'll both just be unhappy."

George thinks she can see through his lie. He doesn't care, maybe it was made to be seen through. He smiles slightly, and she pulls her hand away.

George's eyes lift when she stands up abruptly. He expected her to stay, buy a drink, get to know him. Clearly thats not her plan. She places a hand on his shoulder and smiles.

"Talk to him, yeah?"

George nods, looking back at his glass. The hand moves from his shoulder and then she's gone, merged into the crowd of people. George doesn't know if he'll ever see her again, he didn't even get her name, he wants to thank her. He wants to let her know he appreciated her company. But it's pointless. She's gone. He hums.

He thinks of Will. He doesn't know why the first thing he pictures is him, stood outside Will's front door. Maybe it's a sign. Looking at the time, he sighs. It's too late now, Will would be pissed off if George rocked up outside his apartment this late. The last thing he wants to do is catch Will in a bad mood.

Now he has a plan, a goal to achieve, he doesn't know what to do. He feels a bit lost. All he can do now is achieve that goal, but he instantly feels stuck when he tries to come up with anything that he could say. But, as he constantly reminds himself, tomorrow is another day.

  
Another day in which he finds himself stood outside Will's apartment. He longs so badly to tell Will everything. To beg for him back, so he does so.

Nobody knows he's here, not Alex, not James, just George and Will now that he's opened the door, and laid his eyes upon the crying boy stood at his doorstep.

"I'm so sorry," George sobs.

Will looks at him, face blank, expressionless. George hates it, hates the fact that he can't read Will's mind. Hates the fact that he has to talk to find out what Will thinks of him currently. He doesn't know what to do. His hands fumble in front of him and his eyes shut. Will must think he's ridiculous.

"Come here," Will smiles sadly, expression shifting, curling his arm around George's shoulder and beckoning him inside. George stumbles in, not expecting the warm welcome Will has given him. He expected shouting, arguing, the door slammed in his face. He doesn't feel like he deserves Will's kindness.

Will sits him down on the sofa instantly. Gentle hands on his shoulders as George snivels into his own, the arm of his glasses held precariously between his fingers. He doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve Will's gentle touch. Not after everything, and especially not now that George has come back to him, desperate for forgiveness.

Will kneels down in front of him, reaching up to gently wrap his hands around George's wrists. He pulls George's hands away, lowering them into his lap. He gently plucks George's glasses from his grip, and folds the arms in, placing them carefully on the coffee table. His hands then cup George's face, thumbing the tears away from George's damp, irritated skin.

"'S alright," Will speaks, voice as soft as his hands. George is astounded by how Will puts up with him, how Will put up with him, looking after him almost every day, making sure he drank enough water and got enough sleep. George can't do that on his own, and somehow, Will knew this and cared enough to help.

Will stands up abruptly, and George follows his movement with wide eyes. Now that he's here, finally, now that Will is in front of him, he's reluctant to let him go. Will steps away with a slight smile, making his way into the kitchen as George turns to watch him. As soon as he realises that Will isn't leaving, he turns back, looking down at his hands in his lap and sighing silently, teary eyed. Will must think he's ridiculous.

Will switches the kettle on to disturb the silence that has settled over the flat. It's awkward enough to make Will feel a bit sick, the tension making the air feel thick and hard to gulp down.

He doesn't know why George is here. He was given no warning, no sign that the boy that no longer loves him was going to show up outside his flat, murmuring desperate apologies and sobbing into his hands. He misses George more than he thought. Just being able to make eye contact with him and hold his hands and touch his face has sent sparks of pain to his heart. He's so desperate to be able to call George his again. He wonders if he and Alex had had an argument, and if Will was the only person he could go to. Still, George isn't that kind of person. He wouldn't go back to Will because of that, not after everything, not with the way they left their shattered relationship. Untouched, dangerous. Will doesn't even want to think about it. Will knows it isn't fair for him to make any assumptions. He doesn't know why George is here, but he can't expect that it's for him. That would be awful of him and he knows it. Awful for Will too; it would be pointless to get his hopes up over nothing.

The kettle clicks, and Will sighs, turning to the small machine behind him. Soon enough, mugs are filled, and he makes George's cup almost without thinking about it, George's preference engrained into his mind. He's glad he hasn't forgotten. He takes them over to the coffee table, and places George's mug down in front of him, noticing how his eyes focus on it, any way to distract himself. Will sits down on the other side of the sofa, and faces George, if only to be polite.

"Sorry for touching ya like that, earlier on, if you di'n't like it," Will speaks, mug in his hands. He tries his best to keep himself sounding grounded, looking confident, though he's right on the edge of falling apart, crumbling under pressure because he's so desperate to know how George feels, to know what he's thinking. To know why he came here, all teary eyed and shaky behind his front door. He needs George to think he's alright, he needs George to think that he's doing okay without him. He knows that he isn't. He watches George intently, though the younger boy seems to refuse to make eye contact.

George is a lot calmer, taking slow, deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He can still make out his pulse if he focuses hard enough and it's too fast for his liking. His face is still red, a little blotchy because of his tears, but the pink is slowly fading. His fingers intertwine and pull apart repetitively, a way to numb the nerves, Will recognises.

"It's okay," George mumbles quietly. His throat is dry from all the crying, and his nerves have skyrocketed. He doesn't know how he had planned to talk, not when he's like this. "I didn't mind."

The room is silent. Neither of them speak. Neither of them know what to say. Will mouths words silently, but none of them seem right. None of them fit into the tight space that the thick tension in the air has allowed him. He doesn't want to ruin this- neither of them do. Neither of them want to say something that would set the other one off, that would ruin the whole atmosphere, as suffocatingly awkward as it is.

Will's lips find the side of his mug, and as if he's talking to the tea instead of George, he mumbles his question. It had been the only question he'd had ever since he'd made eye contact with that teary boy stood outside his flat, and his eyes look up from the mug to rest on George, and don't move.

"Why're you here, George?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why d'you keep apologising?" Will asks, silently frustrated, closing his eyes. He sighs softly, watching the tea in his mug move just a little with his breath, the steam moving forward before floating back.

"I want you back, Will. Please. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was so scared, Will. I was terrified. I didn't mean it," George hurries, stumbling over his words as he tries to spill all the thoughts he'd combined over the past few days to Will, in the hopes that one thing would make Will want him back. He doesn't care what it takes, he's desperate for Will's kind words, his soft hands, his presence. "I still love you."

Will, on the other hand, is entirely lost for words. He doesn't know what to say, what to do, this is what he had hoped for, but now he's stuck. He wants this, wants George, but he doesn't know what to say, how to tell George that he wants him, how to tell George that he's okay with it, that he's happy.

He nods, and watches George's expression change. Will can't put his finger on what exactly George is feeling based on his expression, but he speaks quietly to confirm George's suspicions.

"A'ight." Will lowers his mug, leaving it on the table, his hands push together, and he traps them with his thighs absentmindedly. "I've wanted ya back since you said you we' leaving."

"I'm sorry," George breathes.

"I know," Will murmurs, shuffling closer and placing his large hand on George's knee. "Trust me, I know."

George's head falls sideways, resting on Will's shoulder. He misses it, the warmth. George realises he took it all for granted when he had it, and then missed it awfully when he didn't. He sighs, a small smile returning to his face. He's learnt his lesson now, and he refuses to let Will go again, not if he has the choice.

"I was scared of people knowing," George sighs, shutting his eyes momentarily. He feels the worry melting off his shoulders now that he can talk about it. Now that he's reassured that Will isn't going to leave him. "I was scared of people knowing. I don't know, I thought someone might find out."

Will lifts his hand up and combs it through George's soft curls. He breathes softly, still a little on edge, and swallows as he prepares to speak.

"That's okay," he hums. "It's okay, George."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello prompts/requests please


End file.
